She ran her fingers along the smooth arch of the shoes, then zipped the bag.
“Daphne,” he started in a soft voice, “I thought maybe being up here—no pressure, no mirrors, no one watching—you’d feel safe enough to try again. Just if you want to.”
He said it so gently. So sincerely. But his gesture pressed something deep and terrifying in her chest.
Before she could reply, he glanced toward the counter where she’d left her phone. The screen lit up with the preview of Valerie’s text visible.
He picked up her phone, frowning. “Valerie is selling the dance studio? Weren’t you going to tell me?”
“I just found out. Besides, while I have savings and a retirement account, I don’t have the money to buy the studio outright.”
He set the phone down, not slamming it, just too carefully. Like he didn’t trust himself.
“Did you not think to ask me for help?”
“First,” she pointed to her phone, “I literally found out on our drive up here. Second, all of your savings is going toward your new outfitter business and that new lawyer, as it should. Third,” she turned back to the fridge, opening and closing the door, not sure if she wanted a cold soda or hot cocoa or a shot of whiskey, “I don’t know if I want to teach full-time when there’s a chance I can dance professionally.”
“Except you won’t even try on your pointe shoes.”
She grabbed her phone, her overnight bag, and went into the bedroom dominated by an enormous bed. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
He followed her, but stayed within the doorway. “Daph.”
“No, Abe.” She kept her voice soft, but firm, and unzipped her overnight bag. “I need time to figure this out. Except you’re now acting like this is some huge betrayal because I didn’t jump at the chance to rescue a business that doesn’t belong to me, I can’t afford, and I’m not sure I want to run.”
She took out her clothes and dropped them on the blanket, next to her phone. Then she tossed her bag onto the floor. Not hard. Just deliberately.
He took her hand and forced her to sit on the edge of the bed, next to him. “Eventually you’ll have to choose a path forward. Do you want to stay here in the mountains and teach dance in your own studio? Or do you want to reclaim your career as a professional ballerina?”
“It’s possible the prima ballerina door has already closed.”
“Is that what your PT said when you saw her a few days ago?”
She stared at the dark window near the bedside table. The reflection of the room shimmered there like a ghost in firelight. Her face. Abe’s beside her.
She’d been traveling to a clinic in Manhattan that specialized in rehab for elite athletes and dancers. It’d been grueling work, the constant travel and the physical therapy and correspondingworkouts. “My PT said it’s now up to me. If I’m willing to work harder than I ever have before, then I have a chance at reclaiming my career.”
He stood to pace the room, his irritation obvious by the way he ran his hands through his hair, back and forth, like he was trying to yank it all out. “Why didn’t you tell me that when you got home a few days ago?”
She shrugged and threw herself back on the bed, one arm over her eyes. She couldn’t bear the sadness in his voice. “I also saw the director at the American Ballet Theater. I need to give them an answer after Christmas. If I choose to jump back in, with my therapist’s blessing, then I can stay with the company. If not, I’ll be on my own.”
“As a professional dancer?”
“Yes.” She moved her arm and met his dark brown gaze. “While freelance professional dancers have more freedom, it’s not the same thing as dancing with a company.”
He nodded before leaving the room.
He returned with her ballet bag and set it on a chair near a small desk in the corner. “I brought your pointe shoes because I thought they might help you feel like yourself again. Not to push you.”
She nodded, throat tight.
He started toward the door again. “I’ll start dinner.”
She hated that he’d put up another invisible wall. A wall she now realized was partially her fault.
“Wait.” The pink bag sat in the chair like a memory she wasn’t ready to hold. Valerie’s text glowed on her phone screen. Her heart pulled in opposite directions.
But when she saw the soft flicker of firelight dancing against the bedroom wall. And Abe, standing just beyond it, waiting, she held out her hand and said, “Don’t leave.”
